Captured
by ZeroLuck
Summary: "...He was defenseless on the floor, wandless, naked, surrounded by death eaters and in front of Voldemort himself." Basically PWP. Had trouble with genres. Teasing, denial, begging, taunting. ((only first chapter on here))


The rest of this story will be on A03, the link is on my profile. Will be accepting prompts/kinks for scenes.

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The first thing Harry realised was the fact he was lying on a cold hard surface. The second thing he realised was that he was currently lying down naked, on a cold hard surface.

His first coherent thought being; shit.

His mind begun whirling, thoughts speeding a thousand miles a minute. Why am I naked? Am I in danger? How did I end up here? Whereis here?

He became aware of the shuffles of clothing near him, and opened his eyes slowly, not daring to move. His gaze immediately fell to the multiple people in black robes, and white masks. Death eaters.

His mind screamed at him to run, fight, do something. But his body froze in fear and shock. His heart speed up and was hammering so loudly in his ribcage he wouldn't be surprised if they could hear it. When the death eaters noticed him watching them, a few seemed to jeer at him.

He wanted to sink through the floor. He had never imagined he could feel this embarrassed, exposed and helpless. Why isn't he dead already? Surely it would be safer to make sure he was out of the way immediately? No, they wanted to torture him first. He shuddered.

No, no, this had to be a dream. In a moment he would wake up in his bed in gryffindor tower, go to class and everything would be normalagain.

"Finally awake, Potter?" A voice drawled from behind him.

He realised he had yet to move, and quickly scrambled to sit up, covering himself as best as he could. He heard some snigger at his pointless efforts. He slowly turned his head to find the source of the voice not wanting to take his eyes off the death eaters; and found himself sitting on the ground in front of a chair. No, this was a throne.

Perched at the edge of the throne, peering down at him was a man who appeared to be in his twenties. His entire appearance screamed power and pure-blood, but there was something vaguely familiar about him.

Red eyes studied him in amusement.

His mind quickly put the pieces together. This was Tom Riddle. Voldemort. In human form. The feeling of dread and hopelessness that had been building finally reached its peak.

There was no getting out of this. He was defenceless on the floor, wandless, naked, surrounded by death eaters and in front of Voldemort himself.

"Stand up,"

He ordered. Voldemort had his wand pointed lazily at Harry, eyes daring him to disobey.

He had two choices now. He could fight, defy them, and possibly get tortured for it; but he would keep some dignity.

Or, he could obey; he would possibly be punished less, but it would just amuse them all, him giving in.

For now, he decided to follow along, the floor was cold either way.

He was facing Voldemort, whose' gaze was raking over Harrys lithe form. He tried his best not to give him the pleasure of seeing him flush or shy away, so he forced his face to stay blank, and his body stiff.

Voldemort smirked "Turn around and face the others,"

He cursed Voldemort in his head, but a cold feeling was settling in his stomach. What was going to happen next? As he turned he noticed most of the death eaters had removed their masks, and to his horror, a few were staring at him with what could only be described as hungry gazes. Of course, there where still some who simply looked bored or amused.

"So, Harry Potter, the Saviour of the wizarding world. The chosen one. Here you are now, defenceless and surrounded. What will you do?"

He could practically hear the sinister smile in Voldemorts voice.

The moment cold hands touched his arm he made to jump away, but another came forward grabbing his hip, pulling him backwards.

For a moment he sat disorientated, but then he realised to his horror he was sitting in Voldemorts lap, his back pressed against the black robes. He made to get up but the Dark Lords arms grabbed his wrists, and forced them upwards.

Harry heard vague mumbling, and when Voldemort released his wrists, he tried to pull his arms back down, only to his horror find them magically locked into place above his head.

His panic began to build again, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when suddenly a hot breath ghosted across his ear.

"Now now, none of that; relax. I think you may even enjoy this," his voice was low, nearly seductive- no, don't even think like that Harry, clear your mind, don't think of anything. He chastised himself and closed his eyes, pretending he was anywhere but here.

Hands began lightly trailing down his chest, then back up again, light, teasing, feather touches. This doesn't continue for long though, because suddenly a hand reaches up and twists a nipple.

A small noise forced its way out of Harrys throat and he squirmed slightly in Voldemorts lap, before forcing himself non-reactive.

Good lord this cannot be happening. Any situation where he would imagine being captured by Voldemort, this was certainly the last possible thing he would imagine happening.

He felt rather than heard the Dark Lord chuckle, Toms hard chest vibrating against his back.

The hands where back, trailing down his sides, back up, across his chest, briefly landing teasing touches to his now hardened nipples. He tried so hard to block the feelings, make his mind blank, but the sheer shock of the situation kept bringing his mind back. Was this actually happening? He would have passed it off as a dream but even that in itself would be shocking.

"Open your eyes," The voice was back beside his ear, making him shiver at the small jolt that went through him at the authority in his in disgust he told his mind harshly.

One hand grabbed his jaw to direct it upwards slightly, and he flickered his eyes open, and then immediately wished he hadn't.

Some of the Death eaters had taken themselves out of their robes, and where touching themselves; others where subtly rubbing themselves through their robes. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that a few of them had left while he was...distracted.

"Look at how you are affecting them," Voldemort practically purred into his ear , his chin now resting on Harrys shoulder. He tried his best not to flinch when he felt teeth graze his ear lobe, but had to withhold a small whimper when he begun sucking and licking.

To Harrys horror, his body began reacting. He begged his body to stop, stop feeling what Voldemort was doing to him, but it was useless. To his shame, it wasn't long before he was fully erect.

'What the hell is wrong with me?' He thought 'I can't possibly be enjoying this, and why am I not even trying to fight? A spell. It must 's no other explanation' He tried to reassure himself, before being brought back to reality by a deep chuckle near his ear.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself, Harry," Hearing his name in that tone of voice, from that man induced a full body shiver in Harry, disgust, obviously. There was no way it could have been pleasure. Definitely not.

He tried to subtly bend his knees up towards his chest, hiding himself from those watching. Naturally, Voldemort noticed and took action.

"Now now Harry, we can't have that," he grabbed hold of his ankles, brought them upwards and apart, settling his feet on the arm rests. He heard another vague whisper and his legs where now stuck like this, wide open, bend at the knees.

To his shame, this only aroused him more, as he tried feebly to bring his legs together, his efforts gaining amused chuckles from beside his ear.

The way his legs were open showed not only his now throbbing erection, but also a hint of his small, wrinkled arsehole between his cheeks. He felt completely vulnerable, his heart still beating like he was running a marathon. Would they take turns with him? Would they kill him afterwards? Or was he now going to become some toy for their sexual pleasure and amusement?

He was brought of of his thoughts by Voldemorts teasing voice.

"My my, that looks rather painful," he murmured, head now resting on Harrys shoulder. He was looking down at his weeping cock, which had yet to be touched. "Do you require some assistance, Harry?"

The fact that this was the Dark Lord himself speaking in such a gentle tone, despite being teasing was nearly ridiculous. If anything he would have expected Voldemort and his Death eaters to be rough, unforgiving, but not this. It was unbearable, and arousing.

The hands were now trailing down his sides, nails dragging lightly. Harry bashed down the instinct to squirm. Slowly they travelling lower and Harry found himself holding his breath. Closer...closer...

The hands passed his now dripping cock, and slowly started caressing the creases between his thighs, pointedly ignoring his cock and balls. Harry's breath started to become faster, coming more like small quiet gasps. His eyes were now scrunched shut.

When those large hands where suddenly pulling apart his cheeks he jumped slightly, although all this did was make him grind into the figure behind him.

He noticed with slight horror and some strange sense of smug satisfaction that Voldemort was just as affected by this. He could feel the man's own arousal through his robes, pressing into his back.

When he moved Voldemort let out a sort of gasp, or maybe just a small inhale. For some odd, crazy reason Harry found himself wondering if he should do it again, perhaps it would be better than just sitting, taking everything that came his way; but he restrained that urge. Why on earth would I think about making him feel good?

One of Voldemort's hands was now softly caressing his face, tracing the back of his knuckles down his cheek. It tickled slightly, and he found his head moving away from the touch of its own accord. The man simply followed, still lightly touching around his face, as though mapping it out, as though fascinated.

His other hand was now in front of his view, and he flicked his wrist. Suddenly, in his hand was a feather.

Harry's stomach felt like it had "dropped", and he now was anxious. How long would this go on for?

Before he could think anything else the feather was on his nipples, circling the outer edge. His mind went blank and he found himself only feeling.

It trailed from one side of the chest to the other, his breath hitched every time it flicked over the nubs of his slightly red nipples. He continued at a slow, leisurely pace, but eventually began trailing down his stomach. The man swished them, circling areas of skin that make Harry react strongest.

He couldn't help but gasp and squirm at the ticklish feeling it brought. Voldemort groaned softly next to his ear as he grinded, trying to get away from the blasted feather.

But of course, Voldemort found himself liking this reaction, and continued, but moved onto his side. Harry dully noticed that another feather had been summoned and was at his other side, and he had nowhere to squirm too, trapped in between the torturous, light and teasing touches.

Although they tickled he didn't find himself wanting to laugh, no, he found himself fighting back moans.

His body continued moving back against the man against his will, but he found himself not caring. The teasing sensations made it impossible to stay still.

He felt teeth nip at his neck, and he unconsciously tilted his head to the side to allow better access. He felt his neck being tasted, sucked and nipped at, his breath was slowly becoming heavier, and cock more desperate to be touched, pre-cum now dripping down the shaft, and being marked on his stomach where it lay, lightly rubbing against it when he grinding back into the man.

It was infuriating.

One feather was suddenly gone and a hand forced his neck forward, while the other moved down, again trailing on past his painful erection, and found itself between his cheeks. It was slowly trailing up and down the small space between his arsehole and balls.

He mewled and bucked, trying to get it to touch more intimate areas, anything to get him off. His cock was beginning to ache, and his mind was clouded in his arousal. Nothing else existed to him at the moment. Only him and Tom.

The thumb on the hand that was gripping his jaw began moving, caressing his cheek, and moving towards his mouth. It traced the outer edges of his lips, before gently moving between his lips, settling against the tip of his tongue.

"Open your eyes Harry." A soft spoken command broke through the mist of arousal, but he kept them closed. There was a noise of disapproval and the thumb was out of his mouth again, hand gripping his jaw a tad harder now, keeping it firmly in place.

"Open them, Harry,"

The man had now stopped doing anything, and Harry found his hips thrusting themselves, desperate for some kind of touch. When it became clear he wasn't about to grant Harry that wish, he opened his eyes again.

The Death eaters were still there. He could see some had no shame, and were now stroking themselves in full view of the others. A few were more subtle, and palming themselves through the robes.

A whine escaped his throat before he could stop it, but he was rewarded when the man began his ministrations again, but finally moving lower.

The feather flicked across his arsehole. He gasped loudly at the sudden intensity and arousal that shot through him. Voldemort seemed amused by this reaction and continued trailing the feather up and down the crease between his butt cheeks, each time lightly teasing the outer ring.

He waited until another moan escaped Harry's throat before fully focusing in on the wrinkled hole. The arousal that was shooting through him was like electricity. He was never thought it possible to feel this much pleasure.

It was torture, pure, blissful torture. He refused to lower himself to begging but he was growing more and more desperate for a more intense touch.

Whiny moans continued escaping him at regular intervals, and he could feel Voldemort shifting beneath him, the man's arousal still hot and hard against his back.

"Tell me what you want," A husky voice whispered into his ear, and he shuddered.

His resolve at not begging was slowly slipping away, and after a few more moments of gasping and squirming he gave in.

"Please..." He spoke it so softly he wondered if he had even said it, but the light vibration against his back as Voldemort laughed slightly confirmed that he was, in fact heard.

"Louder, Harry, so they can hear you" He spoke softly and gently, voice so kind sounding Harry couldn't stand it. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to enjoy this in any way, shape or form, and yet here he was, naked and aroused in the Dark Lords lap.

The feather disappeared from his arsehole. Before he could mewl in displeasure at the loss, it trailed ever so slowly up his red swollen cock.

He could have screamed at the sensations that flooded through him. Instead he writhed wildly in the man's lap, and emitted a loud gasp which melted into a moan half way through.

He was sure he must have looked so desperate, sweaty, naked in Voldemort's lap.

A soft sensation circled the very tip of his cock, and to hell with not begging.

"Please, please please please,"

He whispered a mantra of begs. He was lost, completely given in to the situation. He was sure the man could have asked him to take the dark mark right now and he would say yes, just as long as he touched him more.

He felt the man shudder behind him, and it oddly pleased him. The feather was now trailing lazily up and down his cock, only just the lightest of touches.

"What do you want me to do Harry?"

He bucked upwards trying to get more pressure on his cock, but couldn't get enough.

"Please, just, please... fuck,"

The feather was now abandoned for the man's hand, which was spreading his pre-cum down the length. And fuck, a hand was a hundred times better than the blasted feather.

Harry dully noted was was holding his breath now as the hand froze near the base. Tom seemed to be waiting.

He slowly opened his eyes again. Suddenly re-aware they were not alone, he studied the death eaters quickly.

Many were still stroking themselves slowly, and the sight made his cock twitch. The fact they were so freely being touched and yet he was stuck like this was maddening, but arousing as hell.

"Please, let me cum," his voice was a mere whisper, pleaded.

His stomach jumped as the man's other hand went down to his pucker, and slowly pushed in. He gasped at the new sensation. It felt odd, and stung slightly, but in his hazy state he couldn't bring himself to care.

He noticed the finger wasn't dry. He must have lubed it up while he was...otherwise occupied.

A shot of pure pleasure ran through his body and he loudly gasped, mouth and eyes wide. His pupils were blown wide now, green nearly completely gone.

He took loud shuddery breathers, but as the finger pressed against that spot again he dissolved back into gasps and moans.

"Merlin, look at you. So helpless, writhing in my lap." Voldemorts voice was low and husky. "You're being so good now, see? There was no point in resisting. I can give you so much pleasure."

The last word was practically purred in his ear and he mewed in response. This seemed to please Voldemort and he lightly stroked his cock in response.

Only moments later he felt his orgasm approach.

"Oh god, fuck, please-" he gasped.

The hand on his cock moved to the base, and squeezed. His orgasm was right there, he was teetering on the edge, but to his annoyance he couldn't will himself over. Tom was stopping him.

He could have sobbed.

"Please, please, let me," He bucked and writhed as much as he could in his magical binds, trying to get some kind of friction or movement that might push him over.

"You want to cum?" Toms voice was teasing, but also heavy with his own arousal.

"yes! yes yes yes yes-" He continued babbling wildly, now thrashing his head from side to side.

And then all at once Voldemort let go and began stroking hard. His other hand which was lightly teasing near his prostate now began circling solidly and directly onto it, sending small electric like signals of pleasure through him.

It happened so suddenly he couldn't even make a noise, just gulped in air, and came so strongly he could only see white. He had stilled in the man's hold, but after a few seconds he let out a low, loud moan, and slowly moved his hips through his orgasm.

He was sure he was shooting out thick streams of cum all over his chest and possibly face, but in the moment he couldn't care. He couldn't care about anything. He just felt.

A whispered voice cut through his pleasure just at the end of his orgasm. He knew he was about to pass out.

"Good boy."

And then he felt himself falling into unconsciousness.


End file.
